Draco's Daddy Diaries: The First Nine Months
by xKrysx
Summary: The journey to parenthood, as experienced by one Draco Malfoy. Draco's thoughts about his coming child, recorded in a journal. DMHG
1. Prologue

**Draco's Daddy Diaries**

_Prologue_

It is late when I reach my mansion in Wizarding London. The Floo network is undergoing some kind of freak maintenance in the middle of peak hour and hard as it is to believe, peak hour in Wizarding London would actually include midnight since most wizards work in shifts. And this is why I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, heir to Lucius Malfoy's vast empire is trudging through knee-deep snow in order to go home. And before you say another word, it just isn't a good time to Apparate back to Malfoy Manor right now. Not when I'm bloody tired and might get into a freak splinching accident that common folks like the Weasleys would get themselves into. My pride and my family name is everything, and unfortunately, in times like this, I wouldn't give a damn about Apparating. But then again, maybe pride and the old Malfoy name would stop me.

It is late when I reach my mansion in Wizarding London. Late enough that all I want to do is to crawl into bed without giving a damn about showering to lie down beside my bushy-haired wife of two years, and hopefully, to catch some shut eye. And only Merlin knows how much I need Morpheus' sleeping dust right now.

But as luck would have it, when my tired feet have finally dragged themselves into my bedroom, the entire room is brightly lit. It takes most of my remaining energy not to curse at this horrendous state of affairs because I know my bushy-haired witch hex me if I curse. I am honestly tired, and really, when she steps out of the bathroom in those too-long pyjamas of hers, I can't help feel a sigh on the verge of passing through my lips. Hermione just has that careful expression that can only mean trouble. You know, the expression when she was going on about S.P.E.W. in our school days.

And perhaps she can sense my emotions just the way I do hers, because she says nothing and hands me some Muggle-looking contraption that is just a teensy-bit wider than pencil. It is peculiar, that contraption, and I rotate it to see a tiny plus on its screen.

"What is it?" I ask blankly. Really, she ought to know better than to show me such a complicated Muggle device like this. I'm not as dense as those Weasleys when it comes to Muggle technology such as the telephone (I hear they call it a 'fellytone'.) I'm not so sure what this is for.

"Draco, it's a Muggle pregnancy kit," she informs me, a hint of a smile gracing her lips.

Her words seep into my mind. _Muggle pregnancy kit… Bloody hell!_

"Are you…" I ask, with a look of disbelief on my face I would never want the Weasleys to see. Scratch that. A look I wouldn't want the entire Wizarding World to see.

She nods carefully.

"Are you sure? You know, those Muggle things might be faulty." She holds up another four of those pregnancy kit things, all with plus signs on them. It is typical Hermione behaviour to be absolutely, one-hundred percent sure.

In all honesty, I'm not sure what to think. But my bookworm is in front of me, nervously chewing her bottom lip and looking so nervous that I embrace her. Her stiff posture relaxes when I hold her to me and I hear her exhale in relief. She really has no idea what her news means to me.

"That's fantastic!" I whisper and a relieved smile adorns her lips.

"I know, Draco."

And suddenly, I'm not so tired anymore.


	2. Chapter 1

**Second Month**

_i._

We found out about Hermione's pregnancy only as she entered the second month. Eight weeks, to be precise. And although it is unlike Malfoys to be all gushy and sentimental, I am keeping a record about this, a private journal, of course, that no one but I will ever see. I've even spelled it so that only I may read or write in it.

The Mediwitch informed me that this phase is called the first trimester and is possibly the worst stage in all three trimesters. It is also the stage when we have to be the most careful because the foetus may accidentally abort itself and also the stage when miscarriages often occur. I must remember to instruct the house-elves to disallow her from doing anything other than reading. And eating. And sleeping.

Hermione, as usual, knew all the answers to all my questions and possibly would have offended the Mediwitch if not for the fact that said Mediwitch is her mentor and is probably used to this kind of behaviour. I got to see an ultrasound of Malfoy junior. A tiny blob, hardly bigger than my finger.

And already I can tell it (I'm using 'it' because I'm not sure of it's gender yet, Hermione says we can only tell at five months) is going to be a great Malfoy because apparently it is bigger than the average foetus at that stage. It looks funny because nothing has really developed yet. But Hermione started tearing at that sight and I got alarmed because I thought something was wrong with the child. The Mediwitch kindly told me that it was hormones.

And if Ronald Weasley is to be believed, hormones will possibly be the bane of my next eight months.

Oh, joy.

_ii._

I understand why they call it morning sickness; I really do, because Hermione has been throwing up without fail every morning since the day she got a check-up. Really, Malfoy junior is proving to be a handful. Much like his mother, although no one rational would tell her that.

But they obviously forgot to mention that it should be called 'all-day-long-sickness' because she is throwing up all the time. She tells me that she's nauseous all day especially in the mornings and whenever the odour of garlic and onions reach her, she cannot stop the urge to heave. That wouldn't be so much of a problem if not for the fact that she loves – or used to love – garlic and more importantly, I love garlic. I had to tell the house-elves to stop using garlic in their cooking, which makes all the food seem bland and tasteless. Which unfortunately for me, Hermione seems to enjoy.

The little tyke really seems to love torturing me, doesn't it?

I just know it'll make a wonderful Malfoy someday. And hopefully, Malfoy Junior will torture Potter's child. (_I think I'll brew some Felix Felicis for Malfoy junior when that happens, Potter has fantastic luck…_)

And in consideration of my declining appetite, perhaps I should go for dinner with Blaise tonight, preferably to an Italian restaurant. And I'll order extra garlic in all my dishes.

_Iii_.

Today, we received an entire crate of books from Flourish and Blotts. An entire crate, consisting of nearly fifty books about pregnancy, childbirth and children. Great Merlin.

She's devoting an entire corner of her collection of books to this.

And the best part?

She's making me read them with her. Cover by cover. Word by word. And she'll present me with random facts about them and also quiz me on them. Now, I'm quite the genius, I was one of the top in my year after all. But this is insane.

She's barking mad, I tell you.

_iv._

A client of mine recently let me know of a way to reduce nausea in pregnant women. According to him, Chinese women eat sour things to help reduce nausea. And this is why as I'm writing this, I'm waiting for the special delivery from China, an entire box of premium grade preserved sour plums. I think it will help.

Hermione is still having morning sickness. And to fulfill my duties as a husband, I force myself to get out of bed at ungodly hours in the morning to sit beside her by her self-dubbed 'porcelain god'. Half the time I end up drifting back to sleep after her second heave, but the other half the time, I'm holding her wavy locks away from her face and rubbing soothing circles on her back, just like she used to do to me after the War, when I was in St Mungo's after having a particularly violent nightmare about Voldemort.

It feels funny, how the roles have been reversed between us, and how now I am the caregiver instead of the person being cared for. I suppose I finally get to experience how it feels to be in her shoes. It's not very pleasant, looking at people heaving and even worse when some of her vomit gets on me.

But then I look into her dark, tired eyes and remember why I love her. And why she's in this predicament in the first place.

She never fails to help anyone in need and once upon a time, that someone was her most hated enemy, Draco Malfoy. Atoning for his sins.

And I suppose that for a certain Hermione Jean Granger, this Draco Malfoy can compromise his pride. Just a little.

Only for her.


	3. Chapter 2

**Third Month.**

_i._

The premium grade preserved sour plums from China apparently worked because Hermione isn't that nauseous anymore, although the Mediwitch says this is to be expected during the third month. As the Mediwitch kindly puts it, "Cheer up, she'll be all fun again a month after this," which is insinuating that Hermione isn't fun when she's expecting, which caused me to give her one of my smirks. Really, she should know that Hermione is fun _all the time_, even when she's expecting. Especially when she's angry and her uncontrollable mane frizzes up and the way she glares at me… which let's me know make-up sex will be _very satisfying…_

The blob has increased in size and the Mediwitch pointed out the heart to Hermione and I. It has suddenly hit me that I am about to become a father in the next seven months, which is unbelievable. If Potter and Weasley had come out to say that they were gay and that Potter was pregnant with Weasley's kid (_although that is not humanely possible, but Potter manages to defy the odds all the bloody time_) and that they were planning to elope to Alaska where they would remain for the rest of their lives, I wouldn't have been as surprised as this.

The thought that I am going to become a father soon is slowly sinking in, and Merlin, it feels absurd.

The drawback of the entire situation, as I write this, is that Hermione still cannot stand the aroma of garlic and onions. I have been deprived of garlic for quite a while now, and Hermione refuses to come near me if I return home smelling of garlic and she runs to the washroom immediately if she smells it. This includes extreme measures of preventing me from entering the room; which also means she gets quite upset.

Somehow, Weasley was right (_Merlin's long beard!_) about hormones, at least.

I guess future dinner appointments with Blaise will have to be cancelled. For now.

_ii._

The morning sickness is easing up, which Hermione is relieved about. Hermione is still attending her Healer duties at St Mungo's, and she's in the running of becoming the Head Healer in St. Mungo's, the youngest to do so at 27 years of age. I told her not to overwork herself and I even offered to buy her the position since Father is on the Board of Directors at St Mungo's but she gave me one of those glares of hers that said she wouldn't take it if I did. Honestly, she can be such a Gryffindor sometimes. I am considering buying the position for her, though. It's just such a Malfoy thing to do.

At home, I have disallowed her from doing anything heavy, which includes getting a glass of water for herself. She complains I'm overprotective, but can't she see that a glass of water, among many others, is a hazard to her health and the baby's? She might accidentally break the glass and have to bend down to pick it up, cutting herself in the process, or worse, some water might spill and she slips on the patch of water…

I think she should be glad that I'm such a caring husband, because you won't see me doing this for that Ginny Weasley or anyone.

She thinks that she's burdening the house-elves and I won't say I share the same passion for S.P.E.W. as her, but at least I'm paying the house-elves. And giving them days off. And health insurance. And a proper place to stay.

Honestly, that Muggle-born witch can be oh, so infuriating.

But I am Draco Malfoy, and everything should be done the way I want it. There will be absolutely no compromise on this issue, I assure you.

And not even one of her brilliant smiles can sway me.

I'm a bloody Malfoy, for Merlin's sake.

_iii._

It's official. My beautiful home has been invaded by vermin of the worst kind. If Father were still alive, he would shooting Crucio curses at everyone, perhaps even a few dark curses. I bet dear old Daddy is rolling over in his grave now.

As I am writing this, a party is going on downstairs in the ballroom. Only that it isn't one of those fancy, high-classed parties I am accustomed to, where the people are elegantly dressed and sip cocktails and nibble on caviar. But this party, if it can even be fit to be deemed a party, is making a hell of a noise that would get us arrested by Wizarding officials for disturbing the peace of the Wizarding World if not for the fact that I am a Malfoy, Malfoy's have great power, and I live in a mansion. Big enough to support their noise-making, but I have a feeling my dear mansion is about to collapse soon. The proof? I'm on the fourth floor of the mansion in my very _private_ study, and yet the floor is vibrating beneath me, and if I listen carefully enough, I think I can hear Ronald Weasel's drunken ramblings. And once, when I went to the sturdy oak door that enclosed my study and cracked it open slightly, I thought I saw a streak of red hair pass me by. Joy. Thankfully, I've already casted an anti-theft spell on all belongings within my compound, without Hermione's knowledge, of course.

The matriarch of the Weasley clan, Molly, is holding this party at my mansion to celebrate Hermione's "Oh so wonderful news!" Which means almost everyone with carrot-coloured hair, blue eyes and uncountable freckles on their spotty face with a 'Weasley' tacked behind their names, is in my house. Every last one of them. And did I mention that Weasley's breed like oversexed bunnies? There are at least one hundred relatives here now, even relatives thrice-removed and distant cousins of cousins of cousins. Even 'Harry-I-killed-Voldy-yippee-for-me-Potter' is here now.

Daddy would be so proud.

Hermione is being the gracious hostess downstairs and everyone is fawning over her. The last I saw, Luna Lovegood Weasley, who wed Ron Weasley five years back, was telling Hermione about how Sarankles affect foetuses. Apparently Sarankles are little, mischievous imp-like creatures that bother others, especially expectant mothers. The entire bunch is absolutely baloney, I tell you.

Oh, and Weasley, before he drunk too much, came up to give me one of his talks that sounded suspiciously like the one he gave me when Hermione and I announced that we were dating. Something along the lines of 'I'll kill you if you hurt Hermione'. Typical Weasleys.

And so when Potter came up to me and congratulated me, I guess I never expected that. He said something about 'You're one lucky bloke' and how I'm lucky to have Hermione. Potter and I seem to be fine now, one decade can change people in many ways. While Weasley was probably the most (_Added at a later date: Did I say most? I meant 'is'_) annoying thing in the world, we are somewhat fine too.

I'm just glad Potter isn't Weasley.

_iv._

Today, we visited Hermione's parents to tell them about the news. They're dentists, and they were in Copenhagen for some kind of meeting about teeth structures. Odd, isn't it?

Hermione's mother, Elizabeth, was noticeably thrilled. After all, she's been hinting about grandchildren since we got married. And Hermione does enjoy being the centre of her mother's affection since she hardly gets to see her since both are just too busy.

Now, Robert Granger is another story. The moment he found out, he beamed at his daughter, but when he turned back to face me, he gave me one of those looks that Hermione gives me whenever I say something mean and degrading about Crookshanks (_yes, that mangy creature is still alive_). Guess we know who Hermione takes after now, don't we?

The next thing I knew, we were in the study and I was noticeably intimidated, although I never will admit it. Seriously, Robert Granger can be dangerous. Especially when I learnt that he was a dentist and visited him at his clinic. I didn't know that there was a patient inside, and when I stepped in, he was drilling in someone's mouth. Then he extracted the tooth of the patient. Let's say he could break my bones with brute strength if he wanted to, and I'm quite happy with my bones, thank you. The thing I learnt about Hermione's father is that he is overly protective of her. The first time I ate dinner at their home, he _kindly_ gave me a few words of wisdom and pointers about dating his daughter. Notice how I write the word '_kindly_' with all the sarcasm and appreciativeness flowing out of me. The multi 'pointers' I received from him about '_hurting Hermione and you'll live to regret it_' and mentions about the functions of his machinery… Let's just say we re-covered that topic. And then he did the strangest, most unexpected thing.

He held out his hand and told me, "Welcome to the family, Draco." Words he never even told me even when I wed Hermione. Suffice to say, I am quite grateful. And touched.

Dinner was bloody fantastic that night. Even without onions and garlic.

_A/N: Thanks for reading! Please R&R and help make my day!_


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